


If You Knew Me Truly

by Dirtcore Dreams (Dream_tempo)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blogger Derek Hale, Consent, Exhibitionism, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Power Dynamics, Sex Positive, Social Media, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 05:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12029304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_tempo/pseuds/Dirtcore%20Dreams
Summary: Stiles stumbles across his TA's body/sex positivity blog and finds himself unable to coalesce the stern and tender parts of Derek Hale. Clearly, he has to investigate further.





	If You Knew Me Truly

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, I have no idea what this even is. It was /supposed/ to just be a short, funny fill for a porn prompt and I accidentally just like... stream of consciousness-ed my way into this feels fest. I dunno, it might be kinda all over the place tonally because it completely changed as I was writing it, but I didn't want to edit it, just post a raw, process piece. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy anyway.

It was meant to be a joke. 

Kinda. 

Well, that was his excuse. What else was Stiles supposed to do when he found out his hot TA ran a sexual positivity blog? There he was, in all his glory, laid out for anyone to see and enjoy-- Derek Hale, doing naked yoga, recommending beginner toys, showing the safe pace for prep. 

He was so stern in class, always frowning and making non-committal grunts and writing ‘you can do better’ in red pencil on Stiles’ papers. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s all smiles when he’s got that girthy, uncut cock of his in hand, doing a live Q&A as he idly runs his finger under his foreskin, gathering the copious pre to wet his dusky cock-head and make it shiny-slick. 

But-- but it is! Derek should be the kind of guy that stands up while he fucks you doggy and kisses his own muscles and yells his orgasm. Instead he’s blushing and chuckling shyly when he can’t help but take a whiff of his own pits, he’s mewling as he only needs two fingers massaging his prostate to get off, he’s got the cutest sleepy eyes and buck toothed smile as he shows off his mess and snuggles into a pillow. 

So, Stiles can’t be blamed when he gets the idea for a little experiment. No one can judge him for thinking some kinda ridiculous things while furiously masturbating to his TA. Maybe they can for the fact that he follows up on those thoughts, but, they came from a reasonable place! 

He just wants to see if it’s all a show, or maybe if that’s only the picture of him solo. Maybe throw in another human variable and it’s back to the furrowed brow and impatient finger tap. Because Stiles has checked the archives and he knows Derek hasn’t posted anything with a partner. He can be blissed out all on his own just fine, but Stiles can totally see a world where that’s because he can’t get anyone to fuck with him mano a mano. 

Stiles, himself, is usually a giver between the sheets, and he’s damn proud of it. Years of being the overeager virgin in high school meant that when he finally start getting it, he was so thankful he made sure it was always a  _ treat  _ to choose him. But with Derek Hale? He could be bratty, oh he could definitely be smug and selfish. 

He’d love to see that condescending smile wiped off his sexy, broody face when Stiles sits on it, demands to be gotten off just from that before even  _ considering  _ to bottom. Teasing Derek once he’s finally inside, forcing him to go slow, sitting in his lap, but making him do all the work. But he can’t show his hand too quick. 

Stiles starts slow. He sends in an ask-- a picture of him in little Superman trunks-- begs Derek for advice about whether they’re cute for a date or just kiddish. You can see his soft, pale belly, the beauty marks littering the insides of his thighs, the little mound of his bulge, the waistband just low enough his happy trail is starting into bush. 

The answer comes not even an hour later, unfortunately all text, but surprisingly sweet. It shouldn’t make Stiles’ heart flutter. ‘ _ Definitely endearing. Don’t know if I’d want to kiss your face or that little pouch more. If your partner isn’t into it, they don’t seem into you. Be yourself.’  _

It’s simple, but Stiles blushes, can’t help chewing his lips and getting a little giddy. That little thrill freaks him out though, so naturally he’s forced into another bad decision. 

Jackson.

Resident Fuckboy. 

Captain of the lacrosse team. 

Stiles’ pity dick. 

He’s not sure which one of them actually patronizes the other more, but the lie they tell themselves is that they’re the one in control. He’s not sure if they actually hate each other or if they’re like bitchy best friends. All he does know is that when they fuck it’s hard and it’s fast and it’s dirty and he doesn’t have to put any effort in at all. 

In fact, it just costs a bit of his pride, and he’s been selling that in bulk his whole life. ‘ _ I need it.’  _ The magic three words that get him dicked without fail. ‘ _ Tonight. I top. Prep yourself.’  _ The reply, rarely varied. Whoever breaks down and asks first is usually the one to take it, though that’s mostly just part of the game they play. Stiles loves any position. He’s pretty sure Jackson much prefers to bottom. But who ever said masculinity made sense? 

He definitely doesn’t edge himself to Derek’s  _ First Timer’s Guide to Fingering (It’s for everyone!).  _ Nope,  _ that  _ would just be outright unhealthy, for sure. He doesn’t follow Derek’s moves exactly, starting by lightly groping and squeezing his balls, building up that sensitive tingle that makes his dickhead throb. His breathing doesn’t stutter as they trail their fingers down in tandem, moving past the heft of their sack to oh-so-gently start to rub at their taint. He doesn’t make a counter melody of whimpers when he and Derek slide in just to the second knuckle, echoing noises in the on the resting beats of Derek’s audio. He for sure doesn’t curl his toes and press his thighs together and scrunch his brow as Derek starts  _ riding  _ his own hand, rolling his hips in such graceful churns that he almost makes it look like dancing. 

His whole belly is sticky by the time Jackson makes it over and he’s so sensitive he feels like he could pop. “Jesus Stilinski, slut it up much?” Jackson doesn’t even take off his jock as he’s undressing, just walks on his knees over the bed and pulls the pouch aside. 

“Shut up.” There’s not even any heat in it, just exhaustion. Stiles is sweaty and lethargic and suddenly just sour with it. This is not the guy he wants to see. This is not how he wants this to go. But— . 

Jackson looks hurt for just the fraction of a second before he snorts, shakes his head, and lines up. Stiles does little besides wrapping his legs around Jackson’s waist, just lays there and takes it and tries to focus on the sensation. Jackson doesn’t try to kiss him, but he does latch onto a  nipple, and can tell at least that he shouldn’t be brutal about it. 

Stiles hums in thanks, runs a hand up and down the newly shaved stubble of his head, rewards the little nicety by hitching his ass higher, actually trying to clench down at the right times. Jackson is so, so pretty, but Stiles has to close his eyes against it, suddenly overwhelmed. They’re only at it for about five minutes, and Jackson has to jerk him off while he’s going soft inside. 

Stiles pulls the covers over while Jackson dresses in silence, and for once, the asshole pauses, clenches his jaw and  _ looks  _ at Stiles. “Get your shit sorted, Stiles. Don’t call me for that again.” He hesitates, blows out an angry breath, then leans down to kiss Stiles, tender. “I do actually give a fuck about you. Don’t tell anyone.” And then he’s gone. 

* * *

 

‘ _ I’ve never used sex as a coping mechanism before and I think it was a mistake. What do I do?’  _

He sends that one in the middle of the night, anonymously. 

‘ _ This one feels pretty personal. You can drop me a PM if you want, or if not, can I get few more details?’  _

And then they’re messaging. He’d meant to just play cocktease in the askbox. He just wanted to flirt and do more of the same dumb shit he used to. He’d been a troublemaker since day one and this felt relatively harmless in the moment, but now? 

‘ _ I was lonely so I fucked a friend and neither of us felt good about it.’  _

_ ‘It’s okay to use sex to explore your own emotions, but everyone has to be in on it, okay with that. It’s just like any other kind of negotiation you should be having before play. Not all kink, is fetish, if that makes sense. Needing affection and validation can lead to puppy play or dad/son fantasies. Needing control can lead to dom/sub or non-con fantasies. Etc. Etc. You can learn a lot about yourself exploring eroticism, but if a partner is involved, they have to be onboard.’  _

Stiles feels a little like he’s getting reprimanded, but he also kinda feels like he deserves it. He wraps the blankets tighter, curls deeper into his pillow, even turns to the wall. 

_ ‘Have you ever done something like that?’  _

The reply takes a while, and Stiles wonders if he crossed a line, or maybe if Derek fell asleep. He’s almost heading there himself before the notification rings. 

_ ‘Frequently... In different ways… This blog is that. I’m coming to terms with myself, and right now I want people to see me. I… used to punish myself. For a while I felt like I needed that and I liked being violently dommed. But not having the right partner then lead to some serious regression and now this is my recovery. I’m loving sex again and in turn trusting and loving myself.’  _

And that’s too intimate. It’s way too intimate. It’s not okay. Because Stiles knows who Derek is and Derek doesn’t know it’s him. It’s basically catfishing or some such shit. It’s violating his space and going against exactly what they’re talking about. Maybe Derek wouldn’t have shared this information if he knew it was Stiles on the other side. 

So there’s one more bad decision to be made tonight, one more rash thing to do. And it’s just swiping that button to request moving on camera, before he can think of the consequences. The chat slides away to show his front facing camera and there’s little bubbles in the corner, waiting for Derek to accept or decline. 

Stiles chews his lips and rubs harshly at his face and rolls over so the light from his window makes sure his features are recognizable. It’s something like the longest thirty seconds of his life, but eventually the accept clicks through, his own face minimizes, and there’s Derek, on his screen. 

He’s wearing glasses and his eyebrows are all unevenly ruffled and he’s got this little look of surprise on his face, somehow without anger. “Stiles?”

“I just,” Stiles has to flit his eyes away, he can’t take it, staring right into Derek’s face, being able to see his reactions in real time. “I just wanted to be sure you knew. Because you deserve to… and you deserve to hang up on me right now and like, block my ip or whatever,” he mumbles, trailing off as he dips his head. 

There’s a long silence, but the call doesn’t drop. Derek doesn’t say anything, his even, slow breathing projecting through the phone and almost forcing Stiles to match it, to try and calm himself down. Eventually, Stiles has to look up, has to let his eyes wander back to alight on pale, shale green. 

“This person, you slept with tonight—” 

“Guy— it was a guy.” Derek nods, waits to see if Stiles has anything else to add, then licks his lips and starts up again. 

“This guy, your friend, are you lonely because you want it to be something more with him?” Derek’s always had a surprisingly soft voice. For all his stature and his scruff, it’s high and kinda thin. At night, when he’s almost whispering and measuring out his every word, it’s almost fragile. 

Stiles shakes his head, feels like he has to be careful with this or he’s gonna break the tenuous olive branch offered. He curls an arm up to his chest, hunkers down around his phone. “I think… I think it’s because I’ve never had  _ more  _ with anybody… I’m the fun guy, the easy one. I’m the, ‘it’s nothing serious, summer fling’. And… I guess that’s started to hurt because it feels like I’m not worth more, like there’s nothing else to me.” 

Derek nods slowly, takes a shaky breath, gives him a lopsided smile with no humor. “I used to hate the way I looked, but not like the way people usually do. I hated being  _ wanted.  _ I hated having everyone’s eyes stick to me. But I kept working out and wearing tight clothes and putting on a show because they made me feel like that’s what I was good for. Why waste those natural talents, right? 

I went to a therapist, after— after the way I was hurting myself got really bad. They said to get to know myself, but they didn’t tell me to stop having sex, to take myself on dates or any of that. Apparently I’m some kind of tactile learner or something. It’s why I did that in the first place, and why I started doing this. 

I’m  _ owning the voyeurism that eroded my sense of self. _ ” Derek breaks the tension by rolling his eyes, smirking at what was clearly a phrase that got used a lot around him. His eyes are a little wet, but his expression is light. None of this was on the blog. It was all sunny, optimistic self-love. Stiles wonders if he’s ever actually gotten the chance to talk about this on an even level, not as a patient. 

Stiles smiles at him and Derek smiles back. The both chuckle around choked emotion. The night rolls on and they just keep talking. 

* * *

 

Stiles’ first post is just him, laying on his twin-sized mattress, soft against his thigh. It’s got a singular confession underneath. ‘ _ I’ve always felt like I had to make it up to partners in bed because my cock is small.’  _

There’s a new one every day. He’s got a jock pressed to his face and is leaking pre. ‘ _ I figured out I was bi because of the men’s locker room and now I can’t help but get turned on by gear and musk.’  _

He’s sucking a dildo as he shoots all up his chest. ‘ _ I have an oral fixation.’  _

It’s about two weeks before he starts getting submissions. The first is a very familiar, freckled ass, seated on a particularly large, silicone cock.  _ ‘I love to bottom, but am always embarrassed to ask for it.’  _

More pour in, they dominate the blog since Stiles only posts one of himself each day, but everyone’s all a-titter when he publishes a mundane photo of himself carrying a box of chocolates and flowers.  _ ‘I’ve got a crush.’  _

There’s radio silence from him for a few days after, the speculations are wild. None of them could have predicted they’d be thwarted by a post on Derek’s blog, his first ever with a featured guest.  _ 10 Tips for Making the Best of a Marathon Weekend _

And if that wasn’t enough to set the internet on fire, just months later, Derek’s only submitted confession. It’s him, with a drooling, sleeping Stiles pillowed on his chest. His stomach has started to go soft, he’s let his scruff grow into a beard, he wears his glasses almost all the time now. He’s got this goofy smile on his face and the text reads,  _ ‘I think I’m in love.’  _


End file.
